It’s in the way I write a tweet, hoping that you’ll read it. It’s the way I’m always playing music in my room with all the pretty lights on, just in case you happen to walk in. It’s in the thought that maybe you’ll walk by my door, and wonder what I’m doing. It’s in the way I watch to see what you post, with the hopes that you do the same. It’s consuming, dangerous, and just overall sad. But the saddest part of it all: I still wish that these hopes turned into reality; our reality.

How can we live our lives, constantly worrying about how someone else is living theirs? I can assume you’re not constantly refreshing your page, re-checking to make sure you hadn’t missed something from me. I know you don’t wait for me to show up, or even send you a text. I know you don’t think, or care about me, the way I do you. So why is it that I still can’t move passed those glasses and awkward laughs of yours?

You did nothing for me. Well, other than building me up, just so you could tear me down. Thinking back, I can’t even begin to tell you what was true and what were lies you fed to me in an attempt to keep me happy. I’m sorry, that I couldn’t hide the fact that I was no longer happy. I’m sorry it had to come out the way it did, when it did. And I’m sorry you don’t feel the need to give me the light of day anymore; I get it, sure.

However, all of my ‘I’m sorry’s’ are lies; just like the ones you said to me. I’m not sorry. Not for getting upset or ignoring you, and not even for thinking as low of you as I did for those few moments. I’m only sorry that it had to end this way; you, still unaware of your mistakes, and me, an absolute mess inside.

You reached out; well, you tried to reach out. Your attempts were weak, and the more I thought about the words you said to me, the quicker I realized that I no longer wanted you for you. I wanted the idea of you that I had created. You acted like the person I wanted you to be for the first few weeks. In fact, there were times when you were better than the idea I had created, but you couldn’t hide it; your mask was cracking. So when you chose her over me I shouldn’t have been surprised, and I wasn’t. No, instead I was crushed. It felt like the person I created was a mirror that you shattered. You shattered the idea of you that I was clutching to; you showed me who you really were beneath the mask you had been hiding behind.

I wish I could pretend that your mask was still a part of you; that reflected who you were deep beneath the hard exterior you introduced yourself with. If you ever reach that part of you, will you let me know? I would really like to get to know that part of you, again. There were some things that I won’t forget, that I feel you already have. When you talk about her, or her, or even her (I never know which one you’re talking about), it leaves me feeling useless, like I was just another player in your game. Well, guess what? I didn’t let you win like all the others do. I was fighting my own battle, against my own enemies, but could you see that? Did you want to see that? No. No, you didn’t because towards the end, you really didn’t care. You had moved on, and I was left behind as you began your pursuit of the next one.

You know, they warned me. Told me you were no good, told me you wouldn’t be who I needed at the time. I’d say that I should’ve have listened, but then I’d be lying to myself. I wouldn’t give up the time I had with you and I would never wish it didn’t happen. If I could re-do it, I would change the way we let it end; quietly and passively. At least if there was a fight I could be mad and angry and get it all out right to your face. But no, here I am writing an article about how I can not rid you from my memory no matter how hard I try.

If you read this, and know it’s you I’m talking to, don’t think too much into it. I don’t hate you; I couldn’t. I just don’t like what you did, and maybe in your eyes, you don’t even see it as a mistake, and that’s okay. I’m me, and you’re you. It’s as simple as that, and that’s why we didn’t work out (in your opinion). If it was up to me, I would have given us more of a chance, but you were sure of your decision and that’s great. I’m glad you spent even the slightest amount of time with me. I thoroughly enjoyed the side of you I got to see.

And to the next girl who feels she didn’t get the time she deserved, pick yourself up and move on. Don’t lose yourself in the idea of someone else.